What Did You Say?
by Puxinette
Summary: Gandalf is having a bad day, and Aragorn has just made it worse. My hysteria over lack of proofreading of lots of fan fictions.


Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Gandalf was not in the best of moods. He had just spent the past three months at Entmoot, trying to discern if Treebeard or any of the Ents had any notion as to where he might find a being by the name of Gollum. In the end, Gandalf had simply given up, since the Ents had scarcely gone past introducing each other to the Entmoot, and he just had not the time to waste for them to get down to any real business.

He had finally made it to Bree, fine metropolis that it was, teeming with livestock and vermin and men—and being hard pressed at times to make any distinction between the three. The wizard breathed in a fetid lungful of air in relief, as he spied the sign he had been longing to see—the placard that hung outside the establishment identifying it as the place he called his home away from home when in this part of Middle Earth—the Inn of the Prancing Pony.

He opened the creaking wooden door with ease and entered, his eyes adjusting to the smoky darkness without any trouble. There were, of course, windows in the inn, but the lack of applied elbow grease and the abundance of grime, kept a great deal of light from filtering in through the dingy panes of what Gandalf supposed was glass. He was greeted quickly and jovially by Butterbur, the keeper of the establishment, and returned his greeting nicely enough, considering his ill humor.

The wizard asked for, and was supplied with an ale, which he took to a table gracing a back wall, and far from any other patron that happened to be in the inn at the mid of the morning. He leant his walking stick against the wall and pulled out a chair and sat down. What a relief for tired old feet after league upon league of walking. He drew out his pipe and his pouch of Longbottom Leaf, packing the bowl just as he liked it. When he had the weed tucked into the pipe to his satisfaction, he nodded to himself and lit it. He took a deep breath of the fragrant smoke, savoring the taste on his tongue and in his throat. He would thank the Hobbits once again in a few days when he made it to Hobbiton—along with refilling his pouch.

Gandalf sat there relishing the relative quiet in the Prancing Pony, thinking of nothing in particular, for once. His life was full of cares and growing fuller of them by the day. He could take this short respite from them—nay, he deserved it! He'd not think of anything of care for at least an hour!

Then he spied him. The man who had just entered the inn. It was _the ranger_. Gandalf closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, the ranger would have been but a figment of his imagination. However, such was not the case; when the Wizard opened his eyes again, not only was the ranger not gone, he was standing there grinning widely, not three feet from where Gandalf sat. So much for well deserved respites.

"Gandalf, my old friend," Aragorn said, as he pulled out a chair and sat down, "how fair you?"

"Actually, Aragorn," Gandalf replied, "I have _fared_ better in my time, I believe."

"How's that?" Aragorn asked.

"Nothing, my friend," Gandalf glossed over. "Nothing at all. And how is the world treating a ranger these days?"

"The world treats the rangers worst then they ought," Aragorn replied.

"How's that?" Gandalf asked, one of his eyes taking on a strange tic.

"The world treats rangers badly, Gandalf," Aragorn repeated.

"Oh," the old man said. "I thought you said something amiss. Never mind, I am a bit tired, I suppose."

"No matter, Gandalf," Aragorn assured him. "I should of spoke more plainly."

Gandalf sat up straighter. "You what?" he asked quickly.

"I should of spoke more plainly?" the ranger repeated.

"All right," Gandalf acknowledged, "that's precisely what I thought I was hearing. Aragorn, you have been spending too much time in the wild. You must make haste back to Elrond's house."

"What are you talking about, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked him.

"The words you are using, my fine friend," Gandalf gasped out. "Do you not hear yourself, man? You have used 'then' when you should have said 'than', and 'of' when you should have said 'have' and the very worst—'spoke' when you should have said 'spoken'! Aragorn—run back to Imladris! You are in dire need of remedial teaching in grammar, it would seem!"

"I think you may of been smoking to much pipeweed, Gandalf," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "I no the Hobbits, and there weed is very potent; perhaps you have grown to old too handle it's affects."

"It is not I, Aragorn, who is in trouble here, man," Gandalf assured him, "but you, my dear friend. I know not where you have left your brain, but in your head it dwells no more. Each time you open your mouth, your words come out making less and less sense. Please Aragorn, make haste to your Elven home, before it is too late."

Aragorn shook his head and got up from the seat he had taken.

"I cannot go two Elrond's house write now, Gandalf," Aragorn said. "As you well no, I am still on the hunt for the creature you sent me for, Gollum; have you had any luck in yore search for him?"

"Nay, I have not," Gandalf said tiredly.

"Well, their you have the reason I cannot go home," Aragorn said. "Anyways, its been good to see you again, Gandalf."

"_Anyways_?" Gandalf asked, incredulous once more. He had to make the ranger see reason. There was no excuse great enough, to leave his brain to rot in this manner—not even the pursuit of Gollum.

"Aragorn," Gandalf pleaded, "do not make me become rough with you. Let us go together to Imladris, to see Elrond. He must be made aware of your problem. It will grieve him, to be sure, but you must not let guilt keep you from his side. It is not your fault. I know not what has done this thing to you, but whatever it is, Elrond will know what to do for it. Come along with me, Aragorn. All will be well. You will see."

"Do you really believe its the best thing, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, tears gathering in his eyes.

"I do believe it would be entirely in your best interest, my friend," Gandalf replied kindly.

"Than lets go and do it," Aragorn said. "I should of known that you wood not of steered me wrong and you would have never done anything to hurt me and you would be my friend anyways and—"

"Aragorn, you are running on, my boy," Gandalf said kindly. "Simply close your mouth now. That's a good man."

They both stood and walked toward the door of the inn. Gandalf tossed a few coins to Butterbur covering the cost of the ales on his way past the bar, and both ranger and Wizard walked out into the midday streets of Bree.

"Gandalf," Aragorn asked as they walked out of town, "do you believe their is hope for me?"

"Of course I do, Aragorn," Galdalf replied. "After all, there is so much for you to do yet, my friend. So very much. And you cannot do any of it without a brain! And Elrond has brains enough for the both of you!"

**A/N: I am very sorry for posting this. I had reached the end of my rope this morning, when I read just one too many times when someone had done something "anyways". I cannot tell you how many absolutely wonderful stories have some of their 'punch' taken away when the reader has to stumble over words that aren't used correctly, and has to stop and figure out just what the writer intends. ANYWAY, sorry for ranting and raving. Puxinette**


End file.
